


Warning Signs

by statusquo_ergo



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, it gets suuuuuper fluffy, no wait please don't go, paula is only here to demonstrate how terrible her relationship with harvey is, so heads up on that, the marvey-est of stories, this is such a marvey story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-06 11:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: Everything is going fine.Everything is going absolutely fine, until it isn't.





	1. Paula

Afterwards, or maybe somewhere in the middle, depending on what the final tally comes out to, Paula will make the mistake of putting a good faith effort into figuring out where things first started to go so horribly wrong. The only thing that will accomplish is to make her feel guilty and cruel, which may be true but does little to help her recovery.

For the time being, however, it’s twelve forty-five, the first break she’s had since her first patient arrived exactly on time for his seven o’clock appointment and wrangled an extra five minutes on her couch by way of a tacky doorknob statement about his mother having recently committed suicide. Assuming her one-thirty will be on time, which is far more likely than not, she has about forty-five minutes to eat lunch and call Harvey, to whom she hasn’t spoken in nearly three days. It’s no one’s fault; merely the price of doing business. He’s such a hard worker, and there’s so much to do now that his firm is getting back on its feet after that disastrous business with the prison, or whatever that was.

The phone rings three times, twice more than normal before he picks up.

“Hello.”

“Harvey,” she says with a grin, popping the lid off of her Caesar salad. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, sorry, I’ve just been…swamped. How’s everything, how’s your week going?”

“Oh, you know,” she dismisses. “I’m just doing my best to save people from themselves.”

“Right,” he murmurs humorlessly, “right.”

He could’ve laughed a _little._

“Come now,” she pushes, “what have you been up to, how’s the recovery effort going? Is everyone appropriately bowing down to the might of the great Harvey Specter?”

“I…”

Paula waits with a smile on her face and her fork resting in the lettuce as she tries not to anticipate the worst.

“Darling?”

Harvey clears his throat.

“Listen, Paula, things are still a little nuts around here,” he admits. She hears the unmistakable sounds of shuffling paper and hard-soled shoes on wooden floors and considers doing him the kindness of hanging up first.

“Is everything alright?” she asks instead.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to you later, alright? Maybe tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she replies, cradling a crouton on the tines of her fork. “I’ll give you a call after work, maybe we can sort out dinner.”

It’s been six days since they dined together, after all. Paula is getting just a bit tired of making reservations for one.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, his attention already distracted. “Alright, talk to you then.”

“Bye,” she chirps. He hangs up without a salutation, which is something she’s learned to become accustomed to, and everything is fine.

Her one-thirty arrives ten minutes early, and she decides to finish her lunch first.

\---

“Hello, Jerry,” Paula says cheerfully, waving to the porter as she walks through the front doors of Harvey’s building. He waves back, a simple flick of the wrist, and it’s nice having that sort of relationship with the staff here; it makes the building feel like her home, too. At the very least, like it could be, someday.

“Mister Specter is still out,” Jerry alerts her as she presses the call button for the lift.

“Oh, I know,” she stage-whispers. “But we haven’t had much time to see each other lately, and I thought I’d surprise him.”

Jerry nods politely and turns his attention back to the log books at the front desk.

This is quite a lovely building.

Up on the twenty-first floor, it still makes her a little giddy to let herself into Harvey’s penthouse, even though she already keeps a toothbrush in the bathroom and several changes of clothes in the closet.

She’s just opened the closet door for inspection when she hears the latch of the front door click.

This is perfect; they’ve had such trouble connecting, Harvey will be thrilled to see her. Closing the closet door as quietly as she possibly can, which isn’t a difficult task when the place is kept in such fine working condition, she tiptoes carefully out the door, peeking around the corner to the living room area.

Harvey sets his briefcase on the coffee table and sits heavily, dropping his head into his hands.

This isn’t quite what she expected.

Paula paces quietly down the stairs to the main floor and clasps her hands in front of her stomach.

“Welcome home,” she tries.

He sighs.

“Paula.” He raises his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did I miss a dinner date?”

“No, of course not,” she says, sitting beside him and laying her hand flat on his back. “Harvey, what’s wrong? Is everything alright at work?”

“At work,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Paula rubs circles over his shoulder blades, and everything is alright.

Harvey clenches his hands into fists and drops them down on his thighs. “Paula, I have to tell you something.”

Her mind immediately flashes to Jacob, and she bites down on her lower lip.

But this is Harvey, who loves her, who gave her a key to his flat, who knows beyond a doubt that cheating in a relationship is the worst thing a person can do and would never commit such a heinous act himself, would never do such a terrible thing to her. Everything is fine, absolutely fine.

“Anything,” she offers.

He sits up, straightening his posture, and she skates her nails up and down his spine.

“The other night,” he says, measured like he’s forcing the words out one by one as he keeps his eyes on the coffee table, “about a week ago, I was trying to tell Donna that Jessica had stopped by, that she had told me to take her name off the wall, but before I could say anything, she… Donna, she kissed me.”

Paula puts her hands in her lap.

Donna. He kissed…Donna.

Donna.

“I didn’t ask her to do it,” he continues, his even tone becoming a bit more emphatic. “She caught me completely by surprise. I didn’t want it to happen. I thought we’d put all that behind us years ago.” He clears his throat and knits his hands together. “But she did, and then she apologized, and she left, and we haven’t… We haven’t spoken about it. She and I.”

Paula tucks one of her knees up to her chest.

Harvey and Donna.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away,” he summarizes. “I was trying to figure out what it meant for the firm, what it meant for Donna and me, and I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. But that’s what happened, and it’s behind us, and…I just thought you should know.”

Well. That explains why Harvey’s been so distracted lately.

Paula takes a deep breath and sighs out through her nose.

“I see.”

Glancing over, out of the corner of his eye, Harvey takes her hand in his.

“I don’t have any of those kinds of feelings for her,” he promises. “I don’t know what she was thinking, but you and I are together now, and that’s enough for me.”

How…sweet.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says.

He tightens his grip on her hand.

“I swear to you, it didn’t mean a thing.”

She nods slowly.

“I believe you.”

The words certainly sound true when she says them out loud.

Harvey smiles and pulls her hand closer to himself. “You wanna spend the night?”

She smiles back.

“Of course.”

Believe me.

\---

Her lunch break today is only half an hour, but that’s more than enough time for a bowl of bisque and a thick piece of crusty bread. Settling behind her desk with the meal laid out before her, Paula opens her filing cabinet and flicks through the old records to the tab labeled “Q – T.”

Specter, Harvey.

Good lord, she hasn’t looked at these in ages. Almost two years, in fact; certainly there was that brief period after he stopped seeing her wherein she glanced at them periodically, nostalgically, but this is an entirely new relationship, a completely clean slate, unaffected by their previous association, untouched by those old issues. This is a fresh beginning.

Sipping her soup, she opens the file, flipping past the insurance information and medical screener.

SPECTER, Harvey Reginald (b. 1971).

Two whole lines of notes address his persistent nightmares and fitful sleep schedule before the name “Donna” even enters into the dialogue. Or, more accurately, the word “secretary,” but given Harvey’s infamous privacy with personal details of his life, it’s no great surprise that he refused to reveal her identity immediately.

Three lines after that, the phrase “psychological trauma” makes its first appearance, quickly followed by “separation anxiety,” which is struck through in favor of “fear of abandonment.” At the top of the next page, underlined twice and printed in capital letters: SEVERE ANXIETY.

And right below, a parenthetical aside: (Donna)

Then, in the next session: _anticipation of abandonment, e.g., Donna, panic attack (shortness of breath, dizziness, distorted auditory/visual perception)_

Paula takes a contemplative bite of bread. Donna certainly did come up an awful lot for a woman Harvey wasn’t interested in in a non-professional capacity. And she did linger around him quite often, despite claiming to have terminated her position as his secretary.

Paula knows a little something about what happens when people try to mix work and pleasure.

As she sips another spoonful of soup, her mobile begins to chime. Harvey, of course; why wouldn’t he? He’s such an attentive boyfriend.

Paula bites her lip thoughtfully and presses “Decline.”

Now’s not a great time.

\---

At eight o’clock, heaving a deep sigh of relief, Paula bids farewell to her last client of the day, packing away her files and rearranging the cushions on the sofa in preparation to do it all again tomorrow. It’s been a productive week so far; two patients committed to new drug regiments, worn down after months of contemplative discussion, and one achieved a minor breakthrough having something or other to do with his sister, not exactly Oedipal but along the same lines. All in all, it’s been a productive week.

Well. Professionally.

Personally, she’s declined five of Harvey’s last ten phone calls and not seen him in person since that night, that night nine days ago when he told her about Donna. About the kiss.

It isn’t that she doesn’t believe him when he says he isn’t interested in her “that way,” because she does. Quite sincerely, she does. No, the problem isn’t Harvey; Harvey is a good man, a right and honorable man. Harvey would never cheat; his conscience wouldn’t stand for it.

The problem, as it always is, is the other women. The problem is Donna.

Any overt attempt to bring the matter up to Harvey would result in failure; he would only deny it, claiming that he had everything under control. That she had nothing to worry about. But how to explain that it isn’t Harvey’s self-control that she doubts, but Donna’s tenacity? Donna’s stubbornness, Donna’s determination to have him for herself? Donna’s willingness to keep pushing until she wears him down, until a late night at the office becomes a late dinner at Le Cirque becomes a late night at Donna’s apartment becomes breakfast at her kitchen table? It’s happened before, she knows that for a fact; Harvey explained their whole sordid history in an altogether depressing effort to clear the air after his admission, his confession of the kiss.

As far as Donna is concerned, if it’s happened before, who’s to say it couldn’t happen again?

It’s not that she doesn’t trust Harvey.

Really, it’s not.

Shaking her head, Paula finishes packing up her handbag and switches off her laptop, making for the coat closet when the doorbell pierces the silence.

A client emergency, really? Right now? They couldn’t have just left a message?

“We’re closed for the night,” she calls as she fetches her overcoat.

“I wanna thank you for all your help!”

Paula closes her eyes wearily.

Right now?

Taking a quick breath, she puts her game face back on and goes to unlock the door.

“Harvey.”

He grins at her, that slightly giddy grin that she usually appreciates so much after work has kept them apart for far too many days in a row but now looks only presumptuous and invasive. Stepping back, she nonetheless waves him into her office, making to retrieve her coat from where she dropped it over the arm of the sofa.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t just be missing you?” he inquires, trailing his fingers along the plush cushions. She levels him with a skeptical arching of her eyebrows, and he gives up the charade at once.

“Paula, something’s been off with us lately.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, shrugging her coat on and picking up her bag.

“Come on, you know what I mean,” he says as he follows her out into the hall. “You won’t answer my calls, and we haven’t seen each other for days. Look,” he steps between her and the button panel when they board the lift, “if I did something, I wish you’d just tell me what it was, because I’ve been wracking my brain all week and I can’t figure out where we went wrong.”

She reaches around him to press the button for the lobby. “You didn’t do anything,” she says. “It’s just been a busy week. Lots of appointments, people coming back into town after holiday.”

“A lot of your patients out of town for Australia Day?” he jokes. She looks away, and he tucks his fingers under her chin. “Hey, come on. What’s going on?”

“Would you stop telling me to ‘come on’?” she snaps thoughtlessly, raising her bag to her chest. Harvey draws his hand back with a baffled expression, and she shakes her head and smiles again.

“I’m sorry,” she soothes. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind. It’s nothing, you haven’t done a thing. You’re wonderful.”

He isn’t buying it. Not that she expected to fool him, really; his specialty, after all, involves quite a lot of lie detection, and he’s very good at it.

“Please,” she tries, a last-ditch effort to appeal to his deep-seated desire to avoid interpersonal conflict. “Please, just, let it go.”

Frowning, thinning his lips, he follows her out the front door where his car and driver idle along the curb, right behind hers. They’re quite a pair, the two of them; so complementary, so compatible. So… _fitted._

“If it gets to be too much for you,” he offers as her driver opens the back door of the town car, “you know you can always come talk to me.”

“Doctor patient confidentiality,” she replies with a teasing grin. He nods uncertainly, and her gaze softens. He really is trying his best, isn't he.

“Thank you, Harvey.”

The door slams shut, and she looks back at him watching her vanish down the street.

Harvey is a good and honorable man.

\---

Lounging on her living room sofa, Paula dangles her mobile between her middle finger and thumb, rocking it left and right and staring blankly at the dark screen.

She hasn’t spoken to Harvey in days.

Not properly, anyway; certainly he’s called a few times, checking up on her and asking to go for dinner or a drink, once even asking her over for the night. She almost said yes to the drink, but the sinking sense of déjà vu humming in her brain persuaded her to refuse at the last moment, much to his chagrin.

It’s no great mystery what caused it, of course. It’s the other woman. It’s Donna.

It’s always Donna.

Paula frowns. This is beginning to be childish; she should go over to Harvey’s flat, right now, and confront him about it once and for all. Really clear the air properly, really get this out in the open. It’s Saturday, it’s the middle of the day, and he doesn’t live far; she’ll walk right over there and they can have it out.

That’s ridiculous, it’s six degrees out. She’ll call for a car, it won’t take a minute.

In the backseat, she rests her chin in her hand and looks out the window. Harvey told her she was lovable, Harvey told her that he loved her; just because Jacob abandoned her doesn’t mean she’ll never find happiness, doesn’t mean she can’t.

Of course, she’s been in this business long enough to know that people never _really_ change. All those men who say things like “But this time it’s different” or “This one’s special,” they’re just tricking themselves. They’re just talking themselves into believing that they can pull off the same act for the hundredth time so they can carry on with their comfortable lives and never have to put any effort into making themselves better.

And the women, the women are just as bad. Half of them fall for those same lies time and again, attracting the same brand of bastard over and over without learning to see through the ruse, and the other half are exactly the opposite, stealing men left and right just to fuck over other women’s lives, just to get back at them for being smart or successful or pretty or whatever. They’re all the same.

Harvey, though. Harvey was supposed to be different.

Harvey was supposed to be the guy who survived his mother’s infidelity, the falling apart of his parents’ marriage, who learned from the mistakes of others and refused to repeat them himself. Harvey was supposed to be the one in a million case who really _did_ change, who really _did_ want to be grow out of his bad habits.

Paula sighs. She’s no different from all those other women. The ones who think so much of themselves, the ones who won’t fall for the same tricks. Over, and over.

The car stops in front of Harvey’s building and Paula swipes her credit card through the reader mounted on the divider.

Alright, this is it. Unto the breach.

Stepping into the lobby, she smiles at the doorman—Tom, she thinks his name is, and walks to the lift. How should she greet Harvey, what should be her opening line? “We need to talk”? No, he would close off immediately. “I’m worried about us”? That might work, but it does rather skirt the issue. “How’s Donna”? No, she isn’t so catty as that.

Something will feel natural when she gets there. When she sees him, she’ll know.

Stopping in front of Harvey’s door, she raises her hand to knock when she hears…voices? It sounds like Harvey’s having a fairly heated discussion with somebody. If Donna is over here, and they’re talking like that… God help her, Paula isn’t sure she can be held responsible for her actions.

Forgoing delicacy for once, she raps her knuckles harshly against the door.

The voices fall silent; the foreign one, the one that might be Donna, says something that sounds like a question, and Harvey says something back that sounds like “I didn’t,” or “I don’t.”

Rolling her eyes, Paula unlocks the door herself and walks in. For his part, Harvey looks downright bewildered.

“Paula.”

She smiles.

“Hello, Harvey.”

Well, that’s not Donna standing behind him. In fact, it’s a man she only vaguely recognizes; he works at the firm, she’s reasonably sure, though she doesn’t know his name with complete certainty. Is it Mark? Martin? No, Mike. Yes, that’s it. In any event, he looks at least as baffled as Harvey does, not to mention a bit frightened.

“Hello,” she says, waving a bit to Mike, who balks.

“Harvey,” he says, gesturing toward the door. “I’m gonna…”

“Yeah,” Harvey replies, nodding slowly. “Yeah, thanks for coming over. I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to you later.”

Mike smiles awkwardly at Paula, grabbing his coat out of the closet and sidling out the door. She narrows her eyes as she watches him go; there’s something odd about that guy being at Harvey’s place on the weekend, but she can’t quite put her finger on why it bothers her so much. They’re coworkers, they were probably discussing business. On the weekend. In fairly aggressive tones.

No, no. That’s a matter for another time.

For now, she gestures pointedly toward the living room area. “May I come in?”

“Yeah,” Harvey fumbles, stepping back and waving her on, “of course, please, come in.”

It’s the most unwelcome she’s felt in Harvey’s presence since he first came to her office two and a half years ago and demanded to schedule an appointment for reasons he refused to disclose. Harvey shuffles along behind her to the couch, waiting for her to sit before he follows suit, folding his hands between his knees.

“What did you want to talk about?” he prompts.

She smiles, smoothing out her skirt. “These last few days have been so busy, it feels like I haven’t seen you in years,” she says. “Can’t I just come over to spend some time with my boyfriend?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Of course you can, but, you know, I’ve been trying to call you.”

“As I said,” she repeats, “I’ve been quite busy.”

“Just with work?”

“Of course.” She smiles tightly and looks down at her lap. “Although now that you mention it, I did want to…talk to you about something.”

Yes, that’ll do.

Harvey shrugs, spreading his hands invitingly. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well.” She shrugs as well, pressing her hands down on her thighs. “To be quite honest, I wanted to talk about Donna.”

“For god’s sake, is that what this is all about?”

She frowns. Of all the beginnings of the conversation she’d expected and quietly prepared for, that one hadn’t even occurred to her as an option.

“Our last discussion wasn’t exactly thorough.”

“I told you,” he says sourly, “the kiss didn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe not to you,” she challenges, “but have you thought about what it meant to her? Why she did it, what she was hoping to get out of it?”

“She was trying to figure some things out,” he dismisses, wringing his hands.

“By kissing you?” she accuses. “And, she wanted to ‘figure some things out,’ well, I can’t help but wonder why you haven’t brought that part of the story up to me before now.”

“Because it wasn’t important,” he snaps, glaring down at the coffee table. “I’m not going to go, tell her off in front of you; I told you it didn’t mean anything to me, and you’re not taking my word for it.”

“Harvey, you spend over ten hours a day with this woman.” Leaning forward, craning her neck around, she tries to look him in the eye, or at least at his face proper. “Do you really expect me to believe that after all the years you’ve worked together, with the history you have, that her kissing you in the dead of night in your darkened office hasn’t lingered in the back of your mind, even a bit? That you haven’t thought it through, you haven’t wondered where it might have led?”

He turns toward her abruptly and seems genuinely shocked at the accusation, which might be a point in his favor if not for the fact that she knows he spends so much of his time deceiving people, controlling his emotions, making his opponents think of him exactly what he wants.

Opponents, is that what they are now? Is that what they’ve become?

He shakes his head, and yes, yes, for the moment, that’s it. That’s the word.

“I spend a lot of time with all my coworkers,” he lays out, “while I’m _at_ _work._ Where I’m spending my time _working._ Not—carrying on illicit affairs, not _cheating_ on you.”

“You seem to spend quite a bit of time with them in private as well,” she refutes. “What about that boy who was just here, that associate of yours? I haven’t seen you in days and he’s just hanging around your flat on the weekends making some kind of social call?”

“His name is Mike, and he’s a junior partner,” Harvey snaps, standing so abruptly that he positively towers over her. “And, you know what, he’s not a boy, he’s thirty-six years old, but that doesn’t even matter because we’re not talking about him, we’re talking about Donna!”

She rises to meet him, incensed at the obviousness of his power play. “Oh, yes, your secretary, that’s much better.”

“She’s the firm’s COO!”

“Donna is your firm’s chief _operations_ officer?” She nearly bursts out laughing, barely restraining herself with the knowledge that Harvey wouldn’t appreciate it at all. “What qualifications brought her to that auspicious position, twelve years’ experience fetching you coffees and batting her eyelashes at gullible men?”

“Are you calling me gullible?”

“I hope not, but you still haven’t given me a straight answer about that kiss.”

“There’s nothing else to _say!_ ” Harvey throws his hands into the air and paces a few steps away, his face twisted in frustration when he turns back to her. “Donna is one of my oldest and closest friends, she’s a very important person to me; why on Earth are you so threatened by her?”

Pinching her lips together, narrowing her eyes at the ground, Paula wonders if there’s anything she can say, any way to make Harvey understand how selfish he’s being, how badly she’s hurting because of him. Why doesn’t he understand on his own? Doesn’t he have enough of a history with infidelity, with his own mother, to know how she feels? To know how this looks?

She presses her hand to her chest and looks up at him insistently.

“If you would just try to see the situation from my perspective.”

Harvey crosses his arms over his chest and meets her gaze with a disparaging one of his own.

“Your perspective?” he mimics. “Your perspective that I don’t have any self control? Your perspective that the moment another woman throws herself at me I’ll, I don’t know, I’ll take her to bed because hey, that’s just what men do, right? Or I guess that’s what men do to _you,_ right, because Jacob cheated on you for two whole months before he changed his mind, so everyone else you try to love will do the same. Because one guy cheated on you, and that must mean you’re just so unlovable.”

Paula bites her lip, feeling her cheeks begin to flush as tears begin to well up in her eyes. How dare he throw that back in her face. How _dare_ he.

“We had a life together,” she says, taking pride in the fact that her voice only trembles a little bit. “We had a life, and a plan. I thought we were _happy,_ and then he just— _ripped_ it all away from me, trying to leave me with _nothing,_ and I…”

“You what?” Harvey interrupts bitterly. “You forgot how to trust after that? That’s what this is, isn’t it, you don’t _trust_ me.”

“No, Harvey—”

“Yes,” he cuts her off again, “it is, and you know what, Paula, I… I can’t believe you’ve been sitting on this for days, for weeks, building this fantasy of self-pity up in your head. I told you the kiss didn’t mean anything to me, and I have been calling you, I have been trying to talk to you, and all the while you’ve just been sitting back and convincing yourself that I’m secretly trying to hide some secret other life from you because what?” Smiling a frigid smile, he shrugs, and she recognizes that gesture, that forfeiture. That weariness of trying.

“Because you don’t trust me.”

That’s not it. That’s not it at all; can’t he see that the problem isn’t that she doesn’t trust him, it isn’t that she doesn’t love him, want him, need him, only that she needs his candidness? His forthrightness, his admission of guilt? She needs him to be _honest,_ she needs him to be _true._

“I do trust you,” she insists, stepping toward him and reaching out to lay her hand on his chest.

“You obviously don’t,” Harvey says, jerking away from her touch, “and I don’t need to stand for this. Get out of my house.”

“Harvey,” she pleads, taking another step closer, “if you would just talk—”

“Get out!” He points furiously to the front door. “Out!”

“No, I don’t— I don’t—”

Harvey throws his hands into the air. “Fine.” He stalks past her, his footsteps heavier than she thinks she’s ever heard. “Fine.”

“Harvey,” she spins toward him, “Harvey, where are you going?”

“You won’t leave?” he bites out. “Fine! Then I will. Make sure you lock up.”

“Harvey—!”

The door slams in his wake.

Bringing her hands to her mouth, her shoulders droop forward and she stumbles back so her knees hit the couch, where she sits, uncertain whether to cry or scream or merely wait in silence. He’ll come back, won’t he? No matter where he’s gone now, he has to. At some point, surely he has to; this is his home, after all.

And when he does, will he let her stay?

Paula rakes her hands back through her hair.

What on Earth is happening to them?

\---

It only takes two days for Paula to build up the courage to call Harvey this time. It’s a good sign, she’s getting better.

He doesn’t answer.

Three hours later, when she tries again, he picks up long enough for her to get out the first syllable of his name before he hangs up.

The next day, the moment her last client leaves, she packs up and heads straight for Harvey’s place, letting herself in only to find him standing at his kitchen sink, washing a truly obscene amount of silverware. Why he doesn’t just put it in the dishwasher is beyond her, but she isn’t really in a place to judge other people’s de-stressing mechanisms.

Hunched over the counter, Harvey sighs so heavily that it makes his shoulders rise and fall.

Paula dares to walk to the other side of the island, folding her hands nervously behind her back.

“Harvey.”

“Are you here to apologize?”

She flinches, but that’s a fair jab. She probably deserves worse.

“I’m…sorry I badgered you so much,” she says. “I shouldn’t have been so aggressive.”

He coughs a laugh under his breath, shaking his head and refusing to look up at her.

“You still don’t trust me.”

She looks down shyly. “That’s not…”

“Not true?” Harvey raises his head, finally. “Tell me it’s not true.”

She bites her lip, and he shrugs.

“You can’t, can you?”

“I want to,” she blurts out. “I really do, and I’m trying my best.”

He smirks.

“Get out of my house.” He arches his eyebrow sardonically. “And I’m gonna make a suggestion to you that I want you to take very, very seriously.”

They’re through. There’s no coming back from this, not this time.

She takes a quick breath, trying to brace herself.

“What is it?”

Harvey sticks his hands back in the sink.

“Get some professional help.”

Should’ve tried a little harder.

Sighing tremulously, she tucks her hair behind her ears and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Thanks, Harvey.”

He turns on the faucet and picks up a sponge. Okay; she gets the message. She can take a hint.

Down in the lobby, she waves goodbye to Tom, who doesn’t seem to notice, and steps out onto the curb to hail a taxi cab.

In the backseat, she looks out the window at the city rolling by and smiles to herself. This is one hell of a place, isn’t it, where just about anything can happen.

On the sidewalk, in front of her office building, she takes out her mobile and scrolls through the address book.

The call goes to voicemail. Well, it’s late. That’s fair.

_Please leave a message._

She takes a breath and clenches her fist tight enough for her nails to dig into the skin.

“Doctor Lipschitz, this is Doctor Paula Agard. If you’d call me back at your earliest convenience…I’d like to schedule an appointment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A doorknob statement is when a patient who is trying to avoid dealing with a particular issue or conflict says something worrisome or shocking at the very end of a treatment session, possibly even with their hand already on the doorknob.
> 
> [Le Cirque](http://lecirque.com/) is a nice restaurant near 601 Lexington (i.e., Pearson Specter Litt).
> 
> “We’re closed, Miss. I’m on my break!”  
> “I wanna thank you for all your help, bud!”  
> —Horse Driver and Diane Barrows, _It Takes Two_ (1995)
> 
> Australia Day is on 26 January; there’s no significance to it, I just looked at my calendar and picked the nearest holiday least likely to actually be celebrated in America.
> 
> According to my [timeline](http://statusquoergo.tumblr.com/post/166090473589/suits-keeps-throwing-timeline-facts-at-me-and-i-am), Mike was born in 1981; I set this chapter in present day for the sake of convenience, meaning he’s approximately 36, although to be fair, I haven’t made any effort to determine whether season 7 actually takes place in 2017 (or 2018).
> 
> “Why would him cheating on you make me see you differently?”  
> “Because some people think that a woman who can be cheated on can’t be lovable.”  
> “How can you know me and think that?”  
> —Harvey and Paula, “[Brooklyn Housing](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s07e05)” (s07e05)
> 
> Feel free to say hi on [tumblr](http://statusquoergo.tumblr.com)!


	2. Harvey

Harvey doesn’t typically make a habit of getting up late just because it’s the weekend; disrupting his sleep schedule like that would only bite him in the ass during the week, and anyway, he doesn’t mind mornings. There’s a certain softness that settles over the city at dawn, a comfort that doesn’t really come around anywhere else.

For the time being, though, lying in bed against his pillows and burrowed under his plush comforter, he takes solace in the illusion that everything in his life is going just fine. Forget the fact that Donna kissed him; forget the fact that some weird, unspoken tension between Mike and Rachel is keeping them from effectively working together; forget that Paula turned down his last five date invitations. Today’s a new day, and everything is going to sort itself out.

Well, until he has to get up and go to the bathroom, where Paula’s toothbrush sits in the holder next to his, a stereotypical spot of pink against his otherwise white- and neutral-toned décor. He’d call her, again, but he isn’t really in the mood to be hung up on. Again.

Instead, he brushes his teeth with his own electric brush and returns to the bedroom to change into a pair of sweatpants and a Henley, yanking socks on at the last moment in case he feels so inspired to slide across the slick wooden floor. Eggs and toast sound pretty good right about now, maybe a couple of cherry tomatoes for color. Coffee.

Sitting at the dining table in the corner, the black lacquer shining under the natural light that pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Harvey looks at the empty chairs across from him and sighs.

What the fuck is going on.

Sure, Donna kissed him, but that was two weeks ago now, and he’s gone way out of his way to avoid discussing the stilted atmosphere at the office with Paula. In fact, he’s avoided discussing work with her altogether; no easy task when it occupies so goddamn much of his time, but he’s making an effort, and she’s just…

He shakes his head as he stands to deposit his empty plate in the sink. No, that’s not fair; Paula’s probably busy with work, or…other stuff. She’s allowed to have a life outside of him; lord knows he doesn’t tell her about every single thing that goes through his head, every single function he attends or every ballgame he scores tickets for. Hell, their entire relationship was a secret from just about everybody until less than a month ago; nothing about them has ever been totally forthright.

Was it the Australia Day crack?

Harvey scrubs his dishes.

Just as he begins to contemplate the advantages and disadvantages of whiling away the day with television versus a movie, the intercom buzzes.

“Mister Specter,” Tom says.

So Paula’s here?

“Yep,” Harvey replies.

“Mike’s on his way up.”

 _Mike_ is here?

“Great, thanks.”

Of all the people who’ve ever visited Harvey at his home, only Mike and Jessica are currently in such prestigious standing with both Harvey and all the doormen to be waved up to his penthouse without first calling for his permission; the buzz is a mere formality, more of a courtesy than anything. Sure enough, a staccato of sharp taps sounds on the door a moment later and Harvey beckons Mike in at once.

“You were in the neighborhood?” he inquires as Mike takes the initiative to hang his coat in the closet and walk leisurely toward the sitting area before being sidetracked by the seats at the kitchen island.

“So now I need a reason to drop by my boss’s place unannounced on a Saturday morning?” he retorts, for some reason unable to look Harvey straight in the eye. Frowning, Harvey steps closer, making sure to maintain a safe enough distance that if Mike is angry about something, he won’t be in range of the fisticuffs.

“Why start now,” Harvey replies dryly. “What’s on your mind?”

Mike puts on the biggest, fakest smile Harvey has seen in probably his entire life, and Harvey takes a few more steps forward as fisticuffs immediately become the least of his concerns.

“Rachel and I are taking a break,” Mike declares, which is so far from what Harvey expected that he needs a moment to be sure he heard correctly.

“What happened?” he asks when he’s found his footing again. “Are you guys alright, is everything alright?”

Mike waves him off as his smile shrinks down to a less alarming size. “We’re fine,” he says. “I mean, health-wise, everybody’s fine, nothing’s going on. No one’s headed for the hospital or anything.” Tousling his hair, he drops his chin down to his chest and takes a breath before he looks up again, somewhat more assuredly.

“We’ve been dancing around this for a little while,” he admits, “and we finally sat down yesterday and talked it out, and we realized that we love each other and everything, but being in an actual relationship, being a couple, it’s more…stressful, you know? Than happy?” He shrugs awkwardly. “I mean, we didn’t _just_ realize it, like I said, we’ve been avoided this conversation for about a week, but I mean it’s not just the wedding planning, because I know that’s a stressful thing, it’s— I mean, it’s everything, pretty much.”

But they looked so happy together. Didn’t they? Was it all just a farce?

Harvey meets Mike’s gaze empathetically. “You’re sure it’s not just the wedding planning?”

Mike shrugs again. “Pretty sure. We’re not officially ‘broken up,’” he says, complete with juvenile air quotes, “more like a trial separation, but I mean I think we both know we’re not going to get back together. It’s okay,” he rushes on at Harvey’s pursed lips, “we were great as friends before we started dating, we’re great as friends when we’re not trying to be a couple, it’s just…that’s where we’re best. As friends.”

Harvey nods slowly. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” Mike says, but he’s still smiling, and Harvey isn’t sure what to make of it. “I just split up with my fiancée, we’ve been engaged for about a decade, of course I’m not okay. But I know this is the right move, for both of us, and we made the decision together, and I _will_ be okay. Eventually. I assume.”

Yeah, so that’s…good.

“Thanks for telling me,” Harvey offers. Mike smirks, a much more familiar expression, and Harvey is suddenly calmer about the whole situation.

“Well it’s not like I have an _unlimited_ supply of disgustingly rich friends to mooch off of during this trying time,” he teases. Harvey shoves his shoulder, turning back toward the kitchen island to finish cleaning up after his breakfast.

“You can be your own damn rich friend,” Harvey reminds him. “Don’t forget that I know where you stand on the company payroll.”

“Fuck,” Mike swears, leaning on the far side of the island while Harvey loads up his dishwasher. “Guess I’ll just have to fend for myself.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” Harvey asks seriously. “You got an apartment, somewhere to stay until you two sort things out?”

Mike shakes his head. “We’re both still living in the apartment,” he explains. “I’m staying in the guestroom, it’s fine. We’re basically roommates; like I said, still friends.”

Harvey hums and pours himself a shallow glass of tap water. “You want one?”

“No,” Mike says, straightening up and moving away from the counter, “thanks. But, anyway, that’s what’s going on in my life; how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Harvey dismisses immediately.

Mike flattens him with a glare.

“What?”

“Harvey.”

“ _What?_ ”

Mike shakes his head. “Harvey, it’s been two weeks since Donna kissed you, and you guys have barely spent five minutes in a room together since. _And,_ you went down to the _bullpen_ the other day, which, I still haven’t figured out why, _and,_ you stole one of Louis’s clients last week, even though you’ve already got three _pretty_ substantial contracts in the works, _and,_ I’m pretty sure you spent the night at the office last Thursday. _And,_ you still haven’t taken Jessica’s name off the wall, even though I know you bought her out. So.” Putting his hands on his hips, he leans forward as Harvey draws back and drinks defensively.

“What’s going on?”

Harvey scowls at his water glass, setting it down next to the sink.

“You think I’m not ready to manage the firm myself?” he asks sourly, hoping to buy himself a few minutes even though that’s obviously not what Mike was getting at.

Mike isn’t falling for it. “That’s not what I said,” he replies, “and, for the record, I think you’re more than ready to manage the firm yourself. But I also think you might be having some trouble balancing your excellent managerial tactics with whatever kind of personal life you’re trying to keep up on the side.”

Yeah, Harvey always knew he was sharp.

“It’s Paula,” he says flippantly, picking his water glass back up and draining the last sips. “Something’s bothering her, but she doesn’t want to talk to me about it, so things are just getting a little strained.”

Mike raises his eyebrows; whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Paula, like your girlfriend Paula? This isn’t about Donna?”

“It might be,” Harvey hedges. “Paula says she doesn’t feel threatened by my relationship with Donna, but you know what, come to think of it, she was pretty anxious for me to tell her about us.”

“Did you tell her when Donna kissed you?”

“Of course I did,” Harvey says, neglecting to mention the few days he dallied indecisively between the two events. “But I told her it didn’t mean anything to me, and she said it was fine. That can’t be what’s bothering her, it… It’s been weeks since it happened, we’ve gotta be past that by now.”

Nodding slowly, Mike takes a surveying glance around the apartment as though he hasn’t been here a hundred times before, as though he doesn’t know the layout like the back of his hand. Harvey fits his empty water glass into the dishwasher and watches as Mike comes to some kind of conclusion.

“You got anywhere to be today?” Mike asks, making his way over to the living room area.

“No,” Harvey says, following along behind him. “Why, where are we going?”

“Nowhere,” Mike declares, picking up the television remote and tossing it to Harvey. “We’re going to hang out here and drink cheap beer and watch action movies and eat pizza, and forget about our stupid fucking love lives.”

Harvey accepts the remote laughingly, setting it back down on the coffee table and going to the liquor cabinet for a selection of alcohol a few grades more dignified than Pabst Blue Ribbon. “I know you missed out on the whole college experience, Mike, but you can still outgrow it without actually living through it.”

“Bullshit,” Mike refutes as he marches to the refrigerator. “What kind of beer do you have?”

“None kind of beer,” Harvey says, setting out a tumbler and picking up a bottle of scotch. “What kind of delinquent do you take me for?”

“Were you born in your forties?” Mike hollers back, his head stuck inside the refrigerator as he searches vainly for anything that might serve as generic party food or drink, as though Harvey would ever stoop to something so plebeian.

“If you’re that desperate,” Harvey calls, “I can have some delivered.”

“That’s so not the point.” Mike begins opening cabinets, presumably searching for chips or pretzels, maybe hoping to get lucky with some ginger ale or, god forbid, orange soda.

“That’s the entire point of being disgustingly rich,” Harvey points out, which at least makes Mike laugh.

Suddenly, a harsh knock sounds at the door, and Mike stops laughing as abruptly as he started.

“Didn’t you say you didn’t have any plans today?” he asks, closing the cabinets and exiting the kitchen area.

Harvey sets the scotch down and pushes his empty tumbler aside. “I don’t,” he says warily, walking toward the door.

He doesn’t make much progress before the tumblers unlock and Paula enters the foyer.

Speak of the devil.

“Paula,” Harvey says. She smiles sweetly.

“Hello, Harvey.”

Harvey glances back at Mike, who looks about as stunned as Harvey feels.

“Hello,” Paula says, raising her voice a bit to direct it toward Mike, who gapes for a second before he finds his voice.

“Harvey,” he says, edging toward the door. “I’m gonna…”

“Yeah,” Harvey agrees, wondering whether the disappointment sinking in his stomach is an appropriate reaction to the situation. “Yeah, thanks for coming over. I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to you later.”

Mike walks to the closet to grab his coat, smiling uncomfortably at Paula as he passes her and makes his way out the door. Harvey’s sorry to see him go, but they can catch up again some other time. It’s not like pizza-and-a-movie has an expiration date, as hangouts go.

For her part, Paula waves her arm in the general direction of the living room.

“May I come in?”

\---

Harvey clenches his hands tight, still managing to dig his close-trimmed nails into his palms and the joints in his fingers already aching as he storms to the elevator, punching the call button with the side of his fist. Paula thinks he’s going to run off with Donna because of what? Because of one little kiss? Because _Donna_ thinks she wants it? Because Harvey isn’t a grown man capable of making his own decisions, capable of rejecting women he isn’t interested in. Because Paula doesn’t believe he can be faithful to her, doesn’t believe she can trust him when he’s out of her sight, rejecting him for days on end and then swooping in so she can bluster and bellow and declare that she told him so, she knew she was right. She knew he was a dog, or a knave, or whatever the fuck she’d call him.

In the elevator, which has cameras installed in the corners linked to a surveillance screen at the doorman’s desk, Harvey makes a great effort to sedately press the button for the lobby and merely cross his arms as he leans against the wall.

Fleeing the apartment was a hasty move, certainly, but he doesn’t regret it; had he thrown Paula out, she probably would have hung around to bang on the door, begging him to talk to her and completely missing the irony. But, Harvey wonders as he makes his way past Tom with a curt nod, where exactly is he supposed to go? Donna’s? That’s a horrible idea for a whole host of obvious reasons. The office? It’s always an option, of course, but he doesn’t particularly want to, and anyway, as furious as he is, he’s liable to make some truly stupid, rookie-level mistakes on any work he tried to do, so that’s out.

The answer is pretty obvious.

Harvey glances out the glass doors at the patrons shuffling past in their winter jackets with scarves wrapped around their faces, then down at himself in his Henley and sweatpants. Fine and expensive sweatpants, but sweatpants nonetheless.

“Hey, Tom,” he says, turning around and trying not to project his embarrassment too loudly. “I need to use the phone for a minute.”

“Do you need to call your apartment?” Tom asks, placing his hand on the intercom. Harvey shakes his head.

“No, I mean the landline. I gotta call Mike, I left my cell upstairs.”

Tom, who’s been trained well for his post, keeps his face perfectly blank as he hands over the cordless phone, already turned on. Harvey smiles his thanks, dialing Mike’s number from memory and putting the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?” Mike answers warily.

“Mike,” Harvey says. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Harvey?” Mike blurts out. “Where are you, are you okay?”

“I’m calling from the phone in my lobby,” Harvey dismisses, “don’t worry about it. But I need to ask you to do me a favor.”

“Sure, anything.”

Harvey sighs, looking up at the high ceiling and suddenly feeling very, very tired.

“You think I can crash at your place tonight?”

Mike doesn’t answer immediately; Harvey holds the phone away from his face and inspects the display to make sure they haven’t been disconnected.

“Harvey, did you…”

Mike inhales sharply, and Harvey immediately envisions his furrowed brow and pinched lips.

“Did you somehow kick yourself out of your own apartment?”

Funny you should mention it.

“So is that a yes?” Harvey ventures.

“Of course you can, but did you—I mean, do you have any bags or anything? Are you wearing a coat? Are you wearing _shoes?_ ”

“Yes,” Harvey snipes, looking down at the sneakers he reflexively grabbed on his way out the door. “You know what, never mind, forget I said anything; I’ll go to a hotel, I’ll get a room at the Carlyle.”

“Don’t move,” Mike instructs instead. “Stay exactly where you are, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Mike, come on.”

Of course, he’s already hung up. Harvey scowls down at the phone before handing it back to Tom, who takes it without judgment and returns to his post as though he hadn’t overheard anything of Harvey’s conversation.

Ten minutes later, a town car pulls up to the curb, and Mike steps out with a navy blue ball of something in his arms.

“I didn’t need to be rescued,” Harvey chides as Mike storms the front door, and Mike rolls his eyes.

“Here,” he says, holding out the blue bundle. It’s his overcoat, as it turns out, that bulky one that always seemed a little big for him; a bit tight around Harvey’s shoulders, but certainly wearable. “Come on,” he continues, putting his hand between Harvey’s shoulder blades and pushing him outside, “and tell me what happened.”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Harvey retorts as he bundles into the car’s backseat.

Mike climbs in as well and shuts the door behind himself, and Harvey turns his head to look out the window as the car ambles down East Sixth onto First.

The ride to Mike’s place isn’t long; Harvey’s made it before, he knows.

Scenery’s a little different than it was the last time.

He feels Mike’s eyes on him as he stares at the Brooklyn skyline scrolling past. Things sure have changed in the past…shit, seven years it’s been now, since they met. Who knows what they’d be doing now if they’d never crossed paths, how their lives would’ve turned out. Who else does Harvey know who’d not only pick him up after a fight with his girlfriend, but bring a spare coat because it’s negative whatever degrees out and he just knew, somehow, that Harvey had been too shortsighted to grab one of his own? Would Harvey even _have_ a girlfriend? Would he still be spending his nights at bars, flaunting his wealth and picking up morally dubious one-night stands?

All in all, this is probably all for the best.

When the car stops in front of the Corinthian, Mike and Harvey get out at a choreographed pace, meeting on the curb and walking into the building together. The doorman nods to them, and Harvey hopes he doesn’t look closely enough to recognize Mike’s coat.

“Rachel’s out with friends,” Mike explains as they ride the elevator up to his floor. “I told her you were coming over and she thought it’d be easier this way.”

“Easier?” Harvey asks as they disembark.

Mike turns his key in the lock. “For you to tell me what the hell’s going on if it’s just the two of us.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Harvey shuts the door as Mike heads straight for the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and retrieving a couple of bottles of Sam Adams, one of which he holds out with a cocky little smirk on his face.

“Come on,” he goads. “Why am I gonna be sleeping on the couch tonight?”

“Pretty sure that’s my job,” Harvey says as he accepts the beer.

“Pretty sure you’re my houseguest,” Mike corrects, “and you’ll sleep where I tell you to.”

Harvey tips his bottle in acquiescence. Mike begins to pick at the label of his.

“So how’s Paula?”

Good guess.

Not that it’s much of a gamble.

“She’s still upset about Donna,” Harvey summarizes. “About her kissing me, she thinks it means I’m gonna leave her.”

Mike raises his eyebrows querulously, and Harvey scoffs.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship with Donna,” he asserts. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it, I don’t feel that way about her.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, raising his hands, “I believe you.”

“I don’t know what she thought she was doing,” Harvey barrels on. “She knows what I think of her, she knows I’m with Paula; ‘I just had to know,’ she said, what the fuck was she _thinking?_ ”

“She was following her heart?”

“But she isn’t in love with me either!” Harvey proclaims. “There was a time when we both thought we were, we thought we _might_ be, but that was years ago, that was—fifteen years ago, it’s ancient history.”

“Yeah,” Mike says as he guides them to the living room, “that’s what she told me.”

Harvey wonders when Donna elected to take Mike into her confidence. Not that it matters much now; he follows Mike to the sofa, standing by the arm and taking a swig of his beer.

“So now Paula’s mad at me because Donna kissed me, and I…I can’t be with a woman who doesn’t trust me to be faithful to her.” He shakes his head, his beer sloshing around in its bottle. “Especially with everything she knows about my mother, I just, I can’t. But I knew she wouldn’t leave until I said she was right, until I said that I still have feelings for Donna, so _I_ left. And,” Harvey gestures vaguely to the apartment, “you know the story after that.”

Mike nods sagely, and Harvey sits in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table.

They drink in silence, each staring at nothing in particular and never seeming to quite land at the same place.

“The thing is,” Harvey says abruptly, “she said she was fine with Donna and me being friends, she said she _admired_ me for it.”

“No kidding.”

“But she only said that after Donna knew,” he continues. “And you know what, _she_ was the one who didn’t want to tell people first, _she_ was the one who was didn’t want to tell that woman, her old mentor about us, and then she got mad at me for telling Louis—which, I only did so he would defend her in that settlement with her fucking ex, and he killed it, by the way, but then she got _mad_ at me for _not_ telling Donna!”

Mike has a twisted expression on his face like his head is spinning, and Harvey tries to bring his rant around to some kind of resolution.

“It was right after I’d promoted Donna,” he explains, “I didn’t want to—you know, I didn’t want to throw that on the bonfire, but Paula said she’d find out eventually and I’d better tell her first or there’d be trouble.”

“She threatened you?” Mike ventures suspiciously. Harvey shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Definitely gave me the sense that she wouldn’t be happy with me if I didn’t tell her, but she didn’t use the words. But you know what happened later that day,” he realizes, sitting up and pointing the neck of his bottle toward Mike, “I told her I hadn’t told Donna about us yet because, you know, your whole thing with Gallo, I got a little sidetracked, and do you know what she said? She said she didn’t want to get involved, but Donna’s still in love with me, and the reason I didn’t want to tell her about Paula was that I _liked_ her being in love with me, and if that wasn’t true, I shouldn’t have any problem telling her about her. Telling Donna about Paula,” he clarifies. “Unless I was, I was stringing her along or something.”

It’s mildly impressive that Mike doesn’t have a rejoinder on the tip of his tongue for that one. Of course, to be fair, it was a lot to pile on all at once; Harvey supposes he should give him a pass.

“I wasn’t,” he says. “I wasn’t stringing her along.”

“Yeah,” Mike murmurs, raising his beer to his lips. “I didn’t think so.”

Harvey nods.

A loud clattering sound echoes in the walls as the building’s central heating system readjusts itself; Harvey leans back in his chair, and Mike reaches over to put his beer down on a coaster.

“Do you think she has a point?” Harvey asks.

“No,” Mike answers immediately, as a good friend ought.

“Do you think there’s a reason I didn’t want to tell Donna about us?” he continues, partly inquiring, mostly thinking out loud. “Did I know she was in love with me, was I trying not to hurt her?”

“I think that would’ve meant telling her you were off the market,” Mike says. “Keeping her from getting her hopes up.”

“But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings,” Harvey defends.

“Harvey,” Mike says, leaning forward. “She knows you’re not interested. You’ve told her that already. You’ve told other people. _She’s_ told other people. _Everybody_ knows.”

“So what’s different this time?”

“This time,” Mike says with an dubious laugh, “this time you’re dating your _psychiatrist._ I think she’s getting in your head.”

“That’s her job,” Harvey mutters, but he knows Mike’s right.

“And this is your _relationship,_ ” Mike says. “She’s playing some kind of…mind games with you. I don’t want to tell you how to run your love life, but Harvey, I gotta say, it doesn’t sound like it’s doing you a whole lot of favors at the moment.”

Harvey shrugs. He may well have a point.

“I’ll give her some time to cool down,” he decides. “She can come to me when she’s ready.”

Mike nods. “Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, what do you say we pick up where we left off this morning?”

Harvey smirks, waving his empty bottle in the air. “Alcohol and action movies?”

“And pizza,” Mike reminds him, getting up to open the DVD cabinet. “ _Mississippi Burning_ or _The Princess Bride_?”

Migrating to the sofa for a better view of the television, Harvey tries not to laugh at the sudden change in the tone of conversation. “I think I’m in more of a _Die Hard_ kind of mood.”

Mike picks the case out at once. “And it’s not even Christmas.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

\---

Two days later, Harvey’s cell rings at about noon, Paula’s name on the display; before he’s finished making up his mind whether or not to answer, the call’s already gone to voicemail.

Three hours later, he gets another crack at it, but the moment he hears her voice, he knows this isn’t the sort of conversation they can have over the phone. Hopefully hanging up right away got his message across.

The next day, he keeps his phone close, trying not to check it too often as he hopes she won’t call again, uncertain what he’ll do if she does. He needn’t have worried; the only calls he receives all day are on his office phone, two from clients and one from opposing counsel.

When he gets home, later than he’d like but earlier than he’d expect, he double-checks the time—eight fifteen—and decides against cooking anything too elaborate. Five minutes into scavenging for ingredients, he decides against cooking anything at all, picking up his phone and speed-dialing the neighborhood Chinese place for some scallion pancakes and General Tso’s.

At nine thirty, finished with dinner and not quite tired enough for bed, he takes his dirty dishes to the sink and turns on the tap. There’s something nostalgically calming about washing dishes; he doesn’t do it when he doesn’t have to, and with the building’s cleaning service, that’s essentially always the case, but at the moment, it’s a nice, simple distraction.

After he’s deposited the plate and glass in the drying rack, he opens the nearest drawer and whimsically empties it into the sink. Silverware; alright, that’ll take some time.

He’s finished the spoons when the front door opens.

Harvey drops a fork into the soapy water and sighs deeply.

“Harvey,” Paula says nervously.

“Are you here to apologize?” he asks, cutting right to the chase. She seems to waver.

“I’m…sorry I badgered you so much,” she tries. “I shouldn’t have been so aggressive.”

He laughs derisively, and the noise gets caught in the back of his throat. She still doesn’t get it, she still thinks she’s in control of this. Of them. Of _him._

“You still don’t trust me,” he says. Not an accusation, merely a statement. An observation of truth.

“That’s not…”

“Not true?” he interrupts, deigning to look her in the eye. “Tell me it’s not true.”

She bites her lip shyly, and he knows she won’t.

“You can’t, can you?”

“I want to,” she tries desperately. “I really do, and I’m trying my best.”

Not good enough.

“Get out of my house.” Then, in a fit of inspiration, a stab of spite so unnecessary but so, so gratifying, he raises his eyebrows and leans forward over the counter. “And I’m gonna make a suggestion to you that I want you to take very, very seriously.”

She sighs tightly, and this is it. They’re done.

“What is it?”

Harvey reaches into the water and grabs a bunch of knives.

“Get some professional help.”

Strongly recommended.

She tucks her hair behind her ears and he wonders how he could ever have felt enraptured by her.

“Thanks, Harvey.”

He picks up a sponge, and she takes the hint.

The door slams behind her, and the idea of washing the rest of his silverware is no longer remotely appealing. Draining the sink, Harvey turns the faucet back on to quickly rinse the rest of it off, declaring it good enough and dumping it all on the drying rack beneath the dinnerplate.

Impulsively, he picks his phone up again.

“Harvey,” Mike greets at once. “How’s things?”

As though they hadn’t left each other mere hours ago. Harvey shakes his head fondly.

“Paula and I are done,” he says without embellishment.

It’s funny, the way the silence that follows doesn’t feel awkward. Not surprising, just a little odd.

“You wanna talk about it?” Mike asks, pronouncing the words in such a way that Harvey knows the question is rhetorical. It’s fine; they both understand.

“You wanna get a drink?” he returns, which makes Mike laugh.

“I wanna go to the dive-est dive bar within a fifty block radius,” he says. “I want to drink beer on tap and eat buffalo wings with ranch dressing that will definitely give me a stomachache and possibly give me food poisoning as I forget my troubles.”

“I was thinking more like a nice aged whiskey,” Harvey counters. Mike scoffs loudly.

“Dude, we both just got out of serious long-term relationships, we’re not going to the damn Plaza Hotel.”

Harvey smiles and walks to the closet to retrieve his coat.

“Don’t call me ‘dude.’”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

\---

It’s another late night at the office.

Harvey stands at his window looking out over the city. The week since he broke up with Paula has felt surprisingly liberated, and the firm isn’t doing too badly, either; on the contrary, their cases are all going smoothly for once; opposing counsel hasn’t thrown them any curveballs they can’t deal with; Bratton Gould has stopped trying to sabotage Alex, and the firm on his behalf. Everything seems to be operating in their favor, logistically.

Personnel, on the other hand.

As the firm’s managing partner, Harvey needs to have an open line of communication with his COO, but every interaction he’s tried to have with Donna since she found out he and Paula had split being drenched in fifty layers of sexual innuendo has stuck one hell of a wrench into that plan. Louis picking up the slack certainly helps, but they can’t keep operating this way forever.

Harvey sighs. He doesn’t know how to make his disinterest any clearer without plastering it up on the walls.

At least Mike and Rachel seem to be handling their breakup like professionals.

Sudden motion in the reflection of the window catches his attention, and he pretends not to notice Donna creeping up behind him; when she reaches his side, she doesn’t waste any time taking his hand, keeping her eyes out the window.

Isn’t this familiar.

He slips his hand out of hers and casually sticks it in his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

Donna glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I think you know by now.”

Harvey shakes his head.

“Donna, you have to stop this.”

She smiles wanly, folding her hands behind her back.

“The entire time you were with Paula,” she murmurs, “it was eating me up inside. I’ve always stood back and watched you live your life, lifted you up while you went after the things you wanted, and now, after all these years, I’m finally thinking about what _I_ want.”

What she wants. As though Harvey hasn’t lifted her up just as much, as though he didn’t pay her out of his own pocket for years, as though he didn’t give her her fucking job in the first place. As though she didn’t try to guilt him into promoting her to a position she was utterly unqualified for, as though she didn’t threaten to leave if she didn’t get her way.

“I’m not just another goal for you to set your sights on,” he says. “You deserve to be successful, and you deserve to be with someone who loves you more than anybody else, but Donna, I don’t know how many more times I can tell you that that’s not me before you start to believe it.”

Her eyes go sort of soft, and she tilts her ankle at a bit of an angle in a romantic posture straight out of a cheesy fifties drama.

“It’s hard to give up on something you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

She nods distantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yeah.”

He hums an acknowledgment, and she takes in the view for another minute or two before she walks away, holding her head up high.

Another weight seems to lift from his shoulders, and hopefully, that’s the end of that.

Harvey pulls his phone from his pocket, practically a reflex, but when the lock screen informs him that it’s already eleven fifty-two, he figures he can wait until tomorrow to tell Mike what happened.

The quality of conversation will be better after a good night’s sleep, anyway.

\---

Harvey wouldn’t call himself a superstitious person, by his nature. It’s just that when he comes into the office Wednesday morning to a full page message on his desk that their easiest ongoing suit, a simple acquisition merger that Harvey planned to wrap that very afternoon, has suddenly become a ridiculous hassle, he can’t help wondering if the universe is determined to balance out every good thing in his life with an equal and opposite clusterfuck.

The case itself couldn’t be more textbook, except for the part where somehow, apparently in the last twenty-four hours, the opposing party has come into a ridiculous amount of money from unspecified sources, and their CEO, some kid in his early twenties, is under the impression that becoming an overnight multi-millionaire has given him the clout to demand meetings with only the highest of the higher-ups, so now he won’t shut the fuck up about it until Harvey agrees to handle his new contract personally. It takes Harvey all of an hour to draft the kid the best deal he’s going to be able to get, considering the powerhouse he’s up against, but Harvey has seen this kind of thing before; the kid’s going to reject the first offer on principle and then insist on holding out for a deal with the word “billion” in it because he thinks he’s the next Zuckerberg or whatever.

Penciling in a meeting with the kid for tomorrow afternoon, Harvey wishes with all his might that he could just sic Mike on this cocky little shit and rip him to shreds for his hubris. Not even because the kid’s annoying the hell out of him—or, not _only_ because of that, but also because Mike would probably enjoy the opportunity. He’s come a long way in his time at the firm, learning and growing, and he likes to share the benefits of his experience with others. Mike’s been good for PSL, good for his clients. Good for Harvey.

Anyway, the point is, he’d mentor the hell out of this punk, and maybe Harvey would be able to leave the office before midnight on Friday.

As it happens, Harvey manages to use the kid’s inexperience against him, wrapping the meeting later than he’d like but earlier than he expected, and when Friday rolls around, he’s pretty sure he _will_ actually be able to head home at a reasonable hour. Reasonable for a man of his profession, anyway, so around maybe nine.

Just as he’s packing up for the night, mentally mapping out his plans for the weekend, a knock sounds at his door. Harvey looks up with exaggerated weariness, hoping to chase off the intruder, but that plan dies a quick and painless death the moment he sees who’s calling.

“So Rachel says you and Donna finally talked things out,” Mike says bluntly, walking in like he owns the place.

“We did,” Harvey agrees. “I think this one’s going to stick.”

Mike’s lips pinch together, and he smooths his hand down his shirt in a nervous sort of gesture.

“So how’re you doing?”

Well isn’t that nice of him. Harvey offers a reassuring smile as he finishes packing up his briefcase.

“I’m alright. Thanks,” he adds, “and—thanks for your advice the other day.”

“Not sure I’d call that ‘advice,’” Mike says, “but, yeah. I’m here if you need me.”

That’s true, actually. Mike has always been there for him, always trying to do his best to support Harvey, and even if he doesn’t always get it quite right the first time around, he never stops working as hard as he can.

Harvey goes to the closet to retrieve his coat, trying to figure out what the vague inkling in the back of his mind is trying to tell him. There’s an idea there, an instinct he should be following, but he can’t see it quite clearly.

“You know what, Mike,” he says as he shrugs his coat on, “you’re absolutely right.”

“I agree,” Mike says at once. “About what specifically?”

What a smartass. “You’ve always been there for me.”

Mike frowns skeptically, his brow deeply furrowed. “Harvey, I went behind your back to work on that prison case with the clinic, even after you made me sign a contract promising I _wouldn’t._ ”

Fair enough. “But you still feel like shit about that,” Harvey reminds him.

“Thanks for pouring all that salt on my gaping wound,” Mike grumbles.

“So there we go,” Harvey concludes as he sets his briefcase down on his desk, “you learned from your mistakes.”

“Damn right I did.”

A rare trait, to be sure. Thinking back on it, Harvey’s spent way more time convincing people that he’s the best at what he does than figuring out whether that’s actually true, or working to make it so; in a lot of ways, Mike is a better person than he’s ever been.

The idea in the back of his mind gets a little clearer.

“You wanna go get a drink?” Harvey asks as he picks his briefcase back up. Mike cocks his head, his eyes darting over his shoulder towards the hall, and Harvey wonders how late he was planning on staying.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, “yeah, I do. Lemme just get my coat.”

Harvey walks to the elevators, past a couple of scurrying associates, and lingers in the reception area; it isn’t a minute before Mike comes back with his coat, that damn satchel of his slung across his back, and Harvey smiles affectionately.

Wait, wait. Hang on a second.

 _That’s_ what it means?

Huh…

Well okay then.

Mike presses the call button for the elevator as they stand together in the middle of the hall, and Harvey clears his throat.

“So,” he ventures with a weak attempt at apathy. “Is it too soon for me to ask you out for real?”

Despite coughing into his hand, Mike doesn’t seem as surprised as Harvey was expecting.

“Isn't there some kind of rule about inter-office relationships?” he asks.

The elevator arrives, and Harvey shrugs as they board it together. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it when you and Rachel were together.”

Mike presses the button for the lobby. “I’m trying to learn from my mistakes.”

Harvey smirks.

“Mike,” he says as they exit the elevator, strolling toward the front doors. “You said it yourself, I was screwing myself over to make a relationship work with my former psychiatrist. Do you really think I’d have a problem with dating a coworker?”

Mike clears his throat, dawdling on the sidewalk. “I always thought of myself as more of a protégé.”

“Yeah,” Harvey retorts, stopping in front of him, “well, I’m trying to think of you as my partner.”

Gawking, Mike seems to have been rendered at a loss for words.

Too forward?

Harvey waves his hand, shaking his head. “Look, don’t say anything right now,” he says. “Go home, sleep on it, we’ll talk on Monday.”

“What if I want to talk about it now?” Mike challenges.

Harvey arches his eyebrows, leaning back a bit. “Then we can talk about it now.”

Raising his gloved hands to his face, Mike blows into his palms and clasps them together, nodding to himself and apparently coming to some kind of conclusion.

“Can we do it somewhere a little warmer?”

Harvey looks up at the sky, as though it’ll give him some kind of insight. “We could go to the bar at the NoMad,” he proposes, but Mike scrunches his face up and tips his head side to side.

“Yeah… I was thinking more like your place.”

Well then.

Harvey grins, putting his hand at the small of Mike’s back and pushing him toward the Lexus where Ray sits waiting to take Harvey home; sliding into the backseat, Mike grins back.

“So,” he teases, “your partner, huh?”

Feeling a light flush stain his cheeks, Harvey turns away to look out the window. “I would’ve said ‘boyfriend,’ but then I remembered that I’m not thirteen years old.”

“Harvey.”

Harvey turns reflexively at the sound of his name; the moment he does, Mike reaches over to curl his fingers under Harvey’s chin, and it’s obvious where this is going.

Not that Harvey is one to be outdone when it comes to spontaneous romantic gestures.

As Mike leads Harvey forward, tilting his head just so, Harvey lays his hand on the side of Mike’s face and draws him in just the same. The angle gets a little miscalculated in the process and they don’t quite meet with the perfection of an onscreen first kiss, but their recovery is pretty damn quick, and the result is way, way better.

When they break apart, Mike presses his lips together and smiles like he’s trying to be serious but can’t completely hold it together.

“Harvey,” he says, “I would love to be your partner.”

Harvey smooths his thumb over the arch of Mike’s cheekbone. “This isn’t moving too fast?”

Dropping his hands into his lap, Mike smiles for real. “Pretty sure I’ve always been yours for the taking.”

Harvey slides his hand down to Mike’s neck before he takes it back, leaning into the leather seat.

“Likewise.”

It sure took us long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Carlyle](https://www.rosewoodhotels.com/en/the-carlyle-new-york) is the hotel where Louis and Sheila meet, and Donna and Mark don’t, in “[100](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s07e08)” (s07e08).
> 
>  **Paula stating that she cares what other people think of her and Harvey’s relationship while simultaneously claiming not to care what other people think of her and Harvey’s relationship:**  
>  “Are you worried about what this woman’s gonna think or because you think what we’re doing is wrong? Because if this is just about what other people think, it’s crazy.”  
> “Well, it isn’t crazy to me, and I need you to understand that.”  
> “I do understand that, but I also know we have a connection, and to throw that away because of some figment of your imagination—”  
> “It is not a figment of my imagination. And I’m not worried about what she thinks. I am worried about what I think.”  
>  _—Harvey and Paula, “Mudmare” (s07e03)_
> 
>  **Paula pressuring Harvey to tell Donna about their relationship:**  
>  “I haven’t told Donna we’re seeing each other yet.”  
> “Why not?”  
> “Come on, you know my history with her. We’re working together. I just promoted her.”  
> “That’s more an excuse than a reason, isn’t it?”  
> “I don’t want to create a problem when there isn’t one.”  
> “And who says there has to be one?”  
> “There doesn’t have to be one, but—”  
> “Harvey, first of all, you may be underestimating her. I mean, Donna’s a big girl.”  
> “Paula—”  
> “And second of all, if I’m wrong and you’re not underestimating her, then you’re only gonna cause both of you a lot more trouble down the road when she finds out. ‘Cause, Harvey, she is gonna find out.”  
> “So you’re telling me to tell her?”  
> “You already know what you need to do. You just asked me because sometimes we need to hear it from someone else.”  
>  _—Harvey and Paula, “Home to Roost” (s07e06)_
> 
>  **Paula stating that she doesn’t want to get involved with Harvey and Donna’s relationship and immediately telling Harvey what to do about his and Donna’s relationship:**  
>  “Does this have something to do with how it went when you told Donna about us?”  
> “What? No. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her.”  
> “Well, what does that mean, you didn’t get the chance?”  
> “It means I went to tell her, but something came up.”  
> “What exactly came up?”  
> “What does it matter what came up?”  
> “Well, I’m just wondering what was so important that you couldn’t find the time to tell her the entire day.”  
> “Well, if you really need to know, a murderer turns out to be working with Mike on a case he swore to me he wouldn’t be working on. I spent the entire day trying to fix it. And I thought it was more important than telling Donna about my love life.”  
> “I’m sorry I asked.”  
> “Look, I didn’t mean to overreact. I’ve just had a hell of a day, and I’ll tell her tomorrow, I promise.”  
> “Harvey, you don’t need to promise me anything. In fact, I’d like to stay out of it entirely, if you don’t mind.”  
> “Paula—”  
> “No, it’s fine. Because, you know, I’m not the one that brought it up. And, frankly, I don’t like you behaving as though I’m the one making you do this.”  
> “What’s going on here?”  
> “What’s going on here is you’re rather keen on keeping our relationship a secret from Donna when you clearly had no trouble telling Louis.”  
> “Are you worried that I have feelings for her?”  
> “Of course you have feelings for her. You started having panic attacks after she left you. We wouldn’t even know each other if it weren’t for those feelings.”  
> “Then what are you saying?”  
> “I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want to tell her because you like being the object of her attention and affection, and you’re worried this will change that.”  
> “Her attention and affection?”  
> “Would you like me to say it, Harvey? She loves you. At least part of her does, and maybe part of you likes it and doesn’t want it to stop. And we wouldn’t even be discussing this if you had the courage to tell Donna the truth and let her move on.”  
> “You know, for someone who didn’t want to be involved in this anymore, you sure have a hell of a lot to say.”  
> “Then I’ll say one more thing. If what I’m saying is wrong, then you won’t have any trouble telling Donna in the morning.”  
>  _—Paula and Harvey, “Home to Roost” (s07e06)_
> 
>  **Paula explicitly telling Harvey she’s comfortable with his and Donna’s relationship:**  
>  “It’s okay that you’re worried about her. I don’t feel threatened by you having another woman in your life that you care about. In fact, your loyalty is one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”  
>  _—Paula, “Donna” (s07e10)_


End file.
